A Murder in a Van GSR, after Costa Rica 13
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Gil and Sara left Vegas, lives change. Set after we last saw our fav couple in Costa Rica. All fluff. Short one with 8 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Murder in a Van Chapter 1**

_A/N: We own nothing! Post Costa Rica--following our stories of "A Few Days", Gil and Sara are no longer in Las Vegas. All fluff, just a peek into lives changed. _

The phone rang six times before Sara managed to extradite her arm from underneath covers—that was after she managed to wake up, so whoever was calling was persistent. Her arm reached across the empty space and found the handset.

"Hello," she managed to say before the caller asked if she would be at home later for a delivery. Her response of "sure" ended the conversation and she returned the phone to its base and sought to return her own body to its former warm place.

All of her life, what she could remember of it, she never slept much, got by on a few hours of sleep and kept going. Once, she had actually gone three days without sleeping; she had gone a week by napping in a chair. Six or seven months ago, her sleep habits changed—abruptly now that she thought about it. One morning, she did not wake up after four hours of sleep. At first she thought it happened because she was exhausted, or the heat, or having a warm body next to her, the thought caused her to smile now.

Alone, she still slept. It was mid-morning judging by the intensity of the sun's rays between the bedroom blinds. She remembered waking in pre-dawn hours as her husband—she smiled again—dressed and left the house. Her husband, Gilbert Grissom—for ten years the two had danced around each other, sometimes with intent, other times at odds; she had always known she was meant to be with him. She smiled again.

He was gone for two days, back to Las Vegas for compound purposes—presenting a paper at a conference and visiting with friends. Sara remained at home. Hank, the dog, Tom, the new cat, their garden, all needed her attention—and her protruding belly added the real reason. She looked as if she had swallowed a basketball, or at least a soccer ball. Her hand caressed her abdomen and she felt movement, an elbow, or a foot or a knee.

"Hey, Baby Cake. It's you and me today."

Not exactly true, she thought. Her mother lived a mile away and would visit later with at least one friend. The women who visited were often more excited about this impending baby than Sara was. To have several of them and her husband in one room was almost more than she could take as they talked about Baby Cake. That was Sara's name for her daughter; her husband and father to this child called her Bizzy Bee. She pretended to have a degree of calm objectivity as opposed to the current state of amazed excitement exhibited by her husband.

Sara smiled again as she pulled a dress over her head. Her mother had brought the dress to her—cooler, she said, easier to wear. She was right. Sara skirted the detritus on the floor—a hundred pieces of some baby apparatus Grissom had brought in. Baby swing, he said. Why on earth a baby needed a swing was beyond her—they had a perfect porch swing which worked very well.

She took yogurt and juice and Hank to the swing and pushed back and forth enjoying the quiet, peaceful place they had found to call home. It was far removed from their previous life. This house, built for another family, had been well placed among old trees, well back from the paved road. Young fruit trees lined the driveway and a field of alfalfa helped to shield the house, the flowers, bee hives, and a vegetable garden from passersby. It was secluded but she never felt alone. She felt she was living a normal life for the first time in her life.

She laughed to herself. A normal life—what was normal, she thought. Certainly not their lives—she had no career, no gainful employment, pregnant as a stray cat. Grissom officially retired, found her in Costa Rica, got her pregnant, married her, and together they traveled for several months before returning to this farming valley to find this place. He found projects that kept him engaged—research reviews, occasional lectures in the city, consulting, but, he said, his primary project was his wife.

The cat arrived to curl against her thigh and the late morning settled around her. She had no place to be, no one expected her. Just as her sleep habits had changed, so had the pattern of her life. Gone was the rush of immediate work, of deadlines, and frantic motions. She pushed the swing with her foot and leaned her head back. She slipped into a day dream of rainforests, of Grissom, of a baby girl.

The movement of the dog brought her back to the porch. She watched as a car slowed and turned into the long driveway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Murder in a Van Chapter 2**

The young deputy waved before lifting a small box from the back seat.

"Morning, Mrs. Grissom," he called.

Sara smiled and waved; would she ever become accustomed to her new name, she thought. "Hey, Sean. What's in the box?"

He arrived on the porch as she opened the door for him. "On the chair is fine," she said.

"It's the case from last week." Sara had heard about the murdered woman found in her van. "Don't tell anyone, but we haven't made much progress." He stopped when he saw what lay on the floor. "Baby swing? We have one of those." He placed the box in an empty chair.

"Does your baby like it?" Sara asked.

"Oh, yeah! We have two kids. First one—the only way we could sleep was to have him in the swing." He bent to pick up a piece. "Would you like some help with this?"

Sara knew it would take Grissom days to put it together. She had planned to put it together today. "Sure," she said, "if you have time."

The deputy unsnapped a multi-tool from his belt. "Shouldn't take long. I put this same model together for my sister." He already had the frame together and reached for a small bag of nuts, bolts, and screws. He talked as he worked and Sara read his hand signals, passing what he indicated.

Nick, he reminded her of Nick—a quick smile of straight white teeth, his polite manner, and the ease of his conversation, which moved from questions about her baby and due date to what was in the box he delivered.

"Mrs. Tipton's murder seems to be a random act. We have nothing—we have a lot, but nothing is helping, you know? We don't get many murders; three or four homicides a year and most of the time, the perp calls us!" He stopped with hand in mid-movement. "You don't mind me talking to you?"

Sara shook her head. "No, go ahead. Sometimes it helps to talk it out," she said.

"The sheriff knew Dr. Grissom, so when you moved here, we knew we had a great source—and when he spoke to us about insects—well, let's say I've not looked at a bug in the same way!"

"Did he tell you how insects save the world as we know it?"

"Yes. We hope his knowledge will help on the timeline for Mrs. Tipton."

All the time he talked, he was putting parts together for the swing. Sara passed belting that he threaded into the seat of the swing. "What do you know? When was she last seen?"

"Wednesday before she was found on Friday morning—her daughter reported her missing."

"Husband?"

The young man sat back as he narrated the case of Mrs. Yvonne Tipton; elderly, found in her van, throat slashed with a sharp tool, the coroner thought it was a small blade. He stopped twice to ask if his descriptions disturbed her, continuing when she said "no."

The husband, he said, elderly, appeared confused, had repeatedly told the same short story. His wife was going to visit their daughter; he did not know how she ended up at the shopping center. He, as well as the adult children and neighbors, insisted there was no motive for her murder.

"The daughter wasn't worried. Her mother tended to drop in unannounced every week. Sometimes she spent the night; the old man didn't think anything was wrong when she did not return home. I don't think the husband has all his wits about him—seems like he has some memory problems."

Sara had gotten drinks for both and handed the young deputy several cookies as he continued, "Another odd thing—no one remembers seeing anything—nothing. No strangers, no homeless or drifters. A few people think they remember the van in the parking lot on Wednesday, but someone's always got a car or truck parked along the street."

Sara asked, "Is it the shopping center with the frame shop?"

"Yes, big parking lot, but not that busy." He tapped a plastic cover in place. "By the time she was found, bugs—insects had gotten to her. Warm days, hot van. The sheriff thinks Dr. Grissom might be able to work out a timeline. He put lots of photographs in the box and all the interviews."

"He will be back late tomorrow. Anything with a bug will get his interest."

Sean stood up, reaching a helping hand to Sara. He ran his hand over all parts of the swing and checked a few connections before giving it a push. "There you go, ready for—boy or girl?"

"Girl."

"We have one of each." He returned the glass to the kitchen counter. "Either one, and it's a lot of fun. Don't take this parenting stuff too seriously," he laughed as he gave advice. "It doesn't come on you overnight, and most of the time, its fun." He left Sara standing in the middle of the room with this miniature carnival ride contraption called a baby swing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Murder in a Van Chapter 3**

Shortly after noon, Sara's mother and a friend showed up with food—good, home cooked, vegetarian, and enough for five people. They laughed at her description of the swing.

"I haven't done a thing all morning and I'm starving."

"Baby Cake is growing," her mother said. Sara took her mother's hand and placed it on her round belly. Her mother's eyes grew wide. Their relationship had been a slow development, one of learning for both and her mother continued to be a very shy, timid person, hesitant to touch or be touched, willing to let others talk.

Sara smiled. "I think she's trying to play ball this morning."

The friend, an older woman who had become a nun as a young adult, placed her hand on Sara's abdomen. "This is so exciting. I've never been around a pregnancy before," her eyes twinkled as she felt the baby move, adding, "well, I've been around our cows and the cats." A comparison that brought a laugh from all three.

They left her on the porch as they disappeared around a bend in the driveway as they returned to their community farm and quiet lives of physical and spiritual work.

Sara rested on the swing, reflecting about how she got to this place—reluctantly in the beginning, doubtful that a religious order could bring peace to her mother's troubled life, even more doubtful that she—Sara—would ever understand why her mother sought such a life. Funny how things worked out, how she had gone to the same farm to find peace.

Her thoughts eventually drifted to the box in Grissom's office. She had no inclination to reenter the world of law enforcement, yet her curiosity begged her to look. A murdered old woman, she would look, not get involved, just look at the reports and interviews, see if she could see anything on paper that provided a solution to a crime, a closure for a family.

In the afternoon, she cut flowers, played with Hank, gathered ripe tomatoes. Late in the day, her phone range again.

"How are you?" The voice was one she loved, low, husky, warm, caring.

Sara responded with a soft laugh. "I'm fine. Baby Cake is fine. Mom brought lunch. The deputy, Sean, brought a box for you. How's Vegas?"

"Everyone misses you. Greg almost cried when you were not with me." He talked about his presentation briefly. "I'm going to dinner with Brass tonight to talk about everyone, everything." The remainder of the conversation consisted of words between affectionate lovers; on Sara's end, she giggled, saying hurry home. He laughed when told how the deputy had put the swing together without reading directions.

Afterwards, Sara wandered around their house, built for someone else, but they had made it their own. Bookcases lined most walls, framed specimens decorated spaces not covered by books. She had put butterflies in their daughter's room, along with a large photograph of a little monkey.

Grissom had objected. "Why the monkey? How about a honey bee?" Sara had rolled her eyes.

"Gil, this is the photograph I took as you arrived! Remember?"

"I remember no monkey," he said.

"He was there."

"I only saw you."

The photo of the monkey went above the crib.

She ended up in his office staring at the box in the chair. She lifted the top to find folders filled with reports, the same kind she had held in her hands for years. Another folder contained photographs—she did not look at those. She found several small jars containing dead bugs, insects, several flies, maggots, a common roach.

She opened the first folder and started reading. An hour later, she had to get up and move around, rubbing her back as she had seen hundreds of pregnant women do. She took several folders to the bedroom, showered, and started writing notes as she read. Around midnight, Sara fell asleep, thinking, she would look at the crime scene photographs in the daylight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Murder in a Van Chapter 4**

A call from Grissom woke her in the morning. Late morning, she noticed. He teased her about her sleep, calling her a sleepyhead who did not need her human pillow to sleep.

"I miss you! I had to use your pillows to get comfortable last night." Sara said as she surveyed the bed, several folders and her notes scattered across the empty side of the bed. "Will you get back on time?"

"I've got a couple of people to see today; I'll be back at home tonight." His voice because almost a whisper. "I miss you—only one night away and it seems too long."

Sara cleaned up the papers and within an hour was driving into the small town nearest their home. She needed a few things, and it was not out of way to drive past the crime scene. She had not looked at the photographs, but easily found the location described in the reports.

A strip mall like thousands of others around the country, she remembered the frame store she had visited. She parked and watched as customers pulled into the parking lot. She was there less than thirty minutes when a thought came to her. She checked her notes and drove across town. It did not take more than half an hour for her to find the right neighborhood, less than four miles from the shopping center, and the right house.

She finished her shopping, smiling to herself as she made purchases with Grissom in mind. He would eat anything, but she would surprise him with a favorite tonight. At home, she found freshly baked bread and eggs beside her door along with a note. The women at the farm had already visited. She smiled. They were good neighbors; close, but not too close, never intrusive, just quietly coming and going.

It took longer than expected to prepare dinner but she had time to confirm her findings with the photographs. She hesitated briefly before pulling them out of the folder.

Out loud, to an empty house except for Hank, she said, "I can do this. I want to do this." She had forgotten how gruesome most crime scenes appeared. This one was no different. A sharp instrument had made a puncture wound below the woman's right ear and then a precise deep cut continued past the center of the neck. She found a magnifying glass and used it to study the wound. Blood covered the inside of the van, the second seat, the backside of the front seats. The body had fallen between the seats, behind the front passenger seat. Blood pooled below the head, spattered everywhere. She read the coroners report again and placed the photographs back in the folder. She sat at the desk, thinking as she looked at her own notes.

Suddenly, she headed for the garage knowing what she wanted would be there. As most people do, she and Grissom stored household items in the garage and she searched for a particular box. Top shelf, she saw it—a long plastic tray sticking out of the box. Finding a ladder, she set it up and climbed several rungs so she could reach the box.

Grissom had arrived on an earlier flight and managed to get ahead of major congestion. The first image he saw as he pulled into the garage was his wife, seven months pregnant, standing on a ladder, looking at the contents of a box. His heart almost stopped; yet, her smile and wave brought a rush of emotions and he stopped his thoughts from becoming words.

Out of the car, he said, "I'll know better than to leave you alone again." He got to the ladder before she had stepped off the bottom step with the box. He took the box, then reached for her. "I've missed you."

Sara giggled, unaware of the fright she had given him. "I needed to find something." He was kissing her, folding around her belly and bringing her into his arms.

"You feel good." He whispered. His hand caressed her, "How's little Bizzy Bee?"

"We are fine; we've missed you. Dinner's ready—are you hungry?"

"For you!" He said as he grabbed his bag and a wrapped present, all the time keeping her next to him. The box was forgotten for the time, left to sit on the garage floor.

Grissom served dinner, insisted on it, without asking why she was standing on a ladder searching inside a cardboard box. Her lasagna was his favorite meal and he knew she had taken hours to shop and cook—just for him. He talked about his trip; everyone asked about her, everyone wanted to know about her 'condition', and all promised to visit.

The wrapped box appeared near the end of the meal. "Brought you something," he said.

Sara stood to unwrap the expensive package; his hand slid underneath her shirt to her belly and he placed a cheek against her skin.

"What is this? The box is too nice for diapers!" She carefully pulled a black ribbon away. "Forum Shops—nothing is cheap there. What's the occasion?"

He shrugged. "I missed you."

She pulled tissue paper away to reveal black—a dress, sheer, diaphanous silk lined with black silk, gathered at its empire waist line, but low-cut. Carefully, she lifted it out of its box to hold it against her shoulders.

"Oh, Gil, it's beautiful." The dress fell to her knees. She smiled as she lifted the skirt. "But where will I wear it? Not to pick flowers and walk the dog."

He held up two tickets. "Concert tomorrow night in the city." He smiled. "My wife needs a night out, a date."

He hugged her, kissed her gently on her forehead, moving to her lips, as she responded. The dress was left on the back of a chair as he half-carried, walked her down the hallway to their bedroom. Her shoes were left under the table; his shirt was removed along the hallway. By the time they got to the bed, he had found that secret sweet spot behind her ear, tickling her with his beard, and her sigh was one of welcomed passion.

He could not get enough of her, the touch of her skin on his, the smell of her hair, holding her so close that his breath literally took in her exhaled air. She tasted the wine left on his lips, the warmth of his hands as he gently grazed her skin when he lifted her shirt. Pleasure, passion, his hand moved to her hip as his lips followed a trail across her chest, to her abdomen. He undressed her almost as swiftly as he had undressed himself, tossing clothes into a careless heap beside the bed. He pulled her to his chest where she heard a low, husky sound warmed by happiness and kissed her with an urgency that made her moan. She took his fingers, kissing each one, teasing with her tongue and teeth. He rolled onto his back and wrapped her into his arms so she was held snuggly against his hips.

Sara kissed his throat, his neck, touching him with her tongue, tasting his skin. She could feel him against her thigh, desire apparent. His hands slid from her hips to trace the sacred pleasure point where she ached with need; her lower body tightened at his touch and she moved with his hand. Some indistinguishable words were said as they came together; she gasped as waves of pleasure rippled through her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Murder in a Van Chapter 5**

"Is it different?" She asked later, as they lay in a tangle of sheets, arms tightly around each other.

Grissom chuckled. "Better—pregnancy suits you in more ways than one."

Sara elbowed him. "I'm talking about Vegas."

His head nestled against her neck. "Vegas never changes. I'm happy not to be there, Sara. Nothing is normal." He began to kiss her neck. Her hands caressed his face.

"Why the dress?" Her brown eyes met his blue ones.

"I had the tickets; I wanted you to have something special."

Sara knew there was more than what he was saying. "You never go to the strip, never to the Forum Shops—who was with you?" She kissed him, deeply, teeth meeting his lip as she gently teased him.

He stammered, took several deep breaths, his hands still for barely a second before he continued with tender massage circles on her back. Sara knew this reaction.

"Heather." She said the name without question, stated as a simple word. She moved to see his face. "It's okay, Gil. She's your friend. Does it bother you? Is she a secret you keep from me?" She smiled. "I always know."

"She would be your friend—she is your friend—and yes, I called her. I needed to see her for—something."

She kissed him again, prolonging mouth-to-mouth contact. She was above him now, holding his head between her hands. "Tell me." Again, what she said was no question.

Sara had always known about his fascination turned friendship with Heather Kessler; first because of her business and then some personal connection had been made between them that eluded Sara for years until she met Heather. Grissom said the two women—she and Heather—were alike, tough outside shell with a soft, feminine center, an intellect that ran miles ahead of everyone else in a room. Sara could have been Heather, or vice versa, he said.

"She has her granddaughter most of the time now—she's a grief counselor. She got a master's degree last year. I wanted her to know—about us, about you, this." His hand stroked her belly. "Heather and Allison met me at the shops. Beautiful little girl—she calls Heather 'Mom' and that's good." Sara dropped her head to his shoulder. "Before I left the lab, I never told you this. I went to see Heather—about a case, I thought. She was already seeing patients and before the night was over, I—I had told her—I wasn't sleeping, I could not eat. It was after you sent the video." He paused and sighed, heavily. "I was desperate—at a low point in my life—without you."

Sara reached to pull the bed sheet tighter around them, enclosing them in a white warm cocoon. She felt his lips kiss her hair. "Go ahead, I'm listening."

"She knew something was wrong. She asked about you and I told her everything. She put me to bed, talked to me, brought me tea, and I slept, for the first time in days. When I woke up, Heather was downstairs fixing breakfast for Allison and her ex-husband. They fed me and I knew what I would do—funny thing, Heather did too. She waited for me to say it, but she wasn't surprised, just smiled." His finger traced Sara's lips. "She wishes us the best—asked if we were going to name her," his hand rested on Sara's belly, "Heather."

Sara smiled which lead to a quiet giggle becoming a louder laugh. "No, not Heather. Catherine would croak if we did that. I've decided—Elizabeth. My mother refuses to let me use her name, so it's your mother—she's named after your mother."

Grissom smiled. He knew Elizabeth was on her "list" and it pleased him.

"You have a box in your office."

"I'll look at it tomorrow. I have something else to do tonight." He slipped arms around her body and let her curl into his. "It's good to be home—in bed." He was asleep within minutes. She doubted he had slept much on his overnight trip and when his slow deep breaths indicated he was soundly sleeping, she slipped out of bed, cleaned up the kitchen, let Hank inside, and hung the black dress in her closet. When she returned to bed, she easily cuddled beside her husband and was asleep without remembering the box in the garage…

**A/N:**_ Just a heads up--probably 3 more chapters, this one is short. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Murder in a Van Chapter 6**

The smell of strawberries woke her, and the shower, and sounds of murmured words. She saw the smoothie at her beside. This was the best part of her life, knowing waking up was the beginning of another good day. Grissom appeared in the doorway, wet, wrapped in a towel, with Hank beside him.

"Your mom and Sister Deborah brought the strawberries."

She watched as the towel dropped and he stood naked, back to her, as he dressed. He was slimmer than he had been a year ago.

"You look good." She said getting him to turn. "How long have you been up?"

Taking a couple of strides, he was back in bed, dressed in jeans and an open shirt. "I almost attacked you in your sleep this morning but you were so peaceful, Bizzy Bee was quiet, and I didn't have the heart to wake either of you." He nuzzled her neck, kissed her while gently touching her belly.

"I'm getting terribly big—I never thought my belly could get this size."

He chuckled. "You are pregnant. You are supposed to get bigger." He moved lips to her abdomen, "And there's more for me to kiss."

They remained in bed with Hank joining them; Grissom massaged her shoulders, her lower back.

"I found your notes." He said. She leaned back against him. "I thought you had given it up." He pulled her against his chest.

"Something got into my mind. I listened to Sean talk about the case and thought I could just read everything. I don't want that job—to do that work any more, but I wanted to see if I could solve the puzzle—or at least figure out part of it. See if my mind could sort things out." She said this as she relaxed in his arms, no tension, no stress, explaining as she would talk about working a crossword puzzle.

"Your notes are excellent—as always." He paused a minute. "What do you think?"

She swallowed the last of the smoothie before turning to face him. "That's what I was getting out of the box. I think I know what the murder weapon was—and I think I know who did it."

His eyebrow lifted. "Explain."

Sara wiggled from his arms and the bed. His thoughts momentarily stopped as he saw long bare legs topped with the shirt he had removed last night. His breath left his lungs as he watched the legs disappear.

"I'll be right back." He heard her say as he got out of bed and followed her. She was talking to Hank, out the door, and back inside before he arrived in the kitchen. In her hand, she held a small sharp blade encased in a green plastic sliding handle.

"Wallpaper cutter." She slid the blade out several inches. "Where are the photos?"

As soon as he saw the blade, he recognized the similarity of the cut made on the victim. "The deep puncture below the ear, right?"

"Yeah, followed by the cut across the neck. I think he stabbed her with one of these, then cut her across the neck in a second stroke."

Grissom smiled. He knew she was good—too good as things had turned out. "He?"

She led the way to his office; his thoughts again moved to her bare legs. "I read all this stuff—all the interviews. Three sons, one daughter, the husband. The interviews are almost identical—but something is missing. No one is sad; no one talks about her—the victim."

He held up a hand. "Slow down, babe." He moved a chair to the desk as she riffled folders in the box. He passed her the notes she had taken. For the next hour, he listened as she unfolded her theory, backed up by statements in interviews, reports from the crime scene, and answered his questions.

Once, she asked, "What are you smiling about?"

"You," he answered. She grinned and kept talking.

"My bet is on the husband. I think he snapped, grabbed what was nearest him, and stabbed her as she was putting something in the van. His interviews are exact; not the ramblings of a confused, forgetful person—like he's memorized a script. He changed his clothes, drove to the parking lot, and walked home." Her finger tapped the desk. "Of course, no evidence except for the one thing that stands out. That's a big parking lot, never full."

He gave her a questioning look as she continued. "Plenty of parking spaces near all the stores—I drove by there yesterday when I was in town—no one parks near the street if they are shopping. That's where a few cars are parked with 'for sale' signs, but no customers." She tapped the interview folder. "No old lady is going to park there, so why did she?"

Grissom remained quiet; this was her case now. "She didn't. She was dead when she arrived—never got out of that van. I'm betting the husband drove her there after he changed clothes and he walked home. And I'd bet at least two of their children know about it." She sat back in her chair and smiled. "Case closed, no bugs involved. The sheriff needs to interview the husband with a few more questions—tell him to walk in holding that plastic tray that's sitting in the garage."

"You want to call the sheriff?" Grissom asked.

She stood, leaving everything on the desk, circling arms around his neck. "No, I'm through with all that. You call him—I wanted to see if I could do it. I'm right, you'll see."

**A/N:**_ Two more chapters and we will try to post both tomorrow! Enjoy! Thanks for all your comments and reviews!! _


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: One more short chapter after this one! Be posted later today! Enjoy! Leave us a review--unless you are in a sugar coma!!_

**Murder in a Van Chapter 7**

…On the way to the concert, they stopped to see her mother, Grissom saying the women needed to see how beautiful she looked. Sara rolled her eyes, but went along with his plan. She did take his breath as she glided across the room and swirled the dress with one hand, laughing as she "modeled this pregnant body," for the women.

The old opera house looked exactly as it had looked for nearly a century; a coffered ceiling, stepped balconies, the orchestra pit below the stage. This one was a new story told as an opera with a young female singer on stage for much of the time; a story of lost love, found love, disaster and death, set to lyrical sounds, drums, trumpets, and flutes. At the end, most of the audience cried "Bravo!" and kept standing as the cast took several curtain calls.

"Wasn't that wonderful?" she asked. Grissom agreed, pleased Sara had enjoyed this departure from their normal night. She slept on the way home using his shoulder as her pillow in an uncomfortable stretch across the center console as he rested his hand on her leg…

The message light blinked and Grissom ignored it until he scooped ice cream into bowls as Sara tended to the dog and the cat. This new life suited both, he thought. His retirement, the escape from time consuming careers, the coming baby, the quietness of living in a rural community had been one neither had sought, but they had found a new beginning. Nothing was hurried in this life.

"Who called," Sara asked.

"The sheriff. He says he has a confession—from the husband."

She finished her ice cream as well as most of his. Quietly, the two moved toward their bedroom; Sara stopped at the door of the nursery they had put together. Grissom joined her within minutes.

"Are we ready?" He asked. It had taken him several days to put the crib together and it had been joined by a chest, a rocking chair, and other mysterious paraphernalia given as gifts. "Do we know how to use all of this? I mean, it's a tiny baby."

Sara's arm circled his waist. "You're the one who got the swing!" She laughed as she flicked off the light.

Weaving arms and legs together, the couple easily found sleep and stirred only when sunlight brightened the room and dog sounds at the door brought awareness to their consciousness. Grissom stumbled out of bed, let the dog out and returned with juice for his wife.

"Come back to bed," Sara said, her voice innocent yet seductive. He did as she asked.

Her body had bloomed with pregnancy—and surprising both, she seemed to be made for it. They had found a higher degree of closeness than either thought possible; she touched him, warmed him, made it impossible for him to think about anyone or anything else. He had not believed it possible to love her more, yet he did. The intimacy of pregnancy, the sharing of their new life cemented a relationship a long decade in the making.

His hands, steady, strong, exploring, handled her with gentle, soothing touches. She responded with an intensity that always surprised him, took the air from his lungs, caused him to hold her as he felt the waves of sweet desire sweep through her before he released his own passion. Incoherent words tumbled from his lips before her mouth closed on his…

Breakfast was simple foods, eaten on the porch. "I called the sheriff," Grissom said.

He knew Sara had solved the case when she explained her theory of the parking lot. A call to the sheriff resulted in Sara's theory being fact; a confession from the husband who, in a sudden fury at his wife's objection to the marriage of their son, had reached for the nearest thing to his hand. The razor sharp cutting tool had plunged into her neck and, in a flash, he had cut her again. She was already inside the van; he changed clothes, drove her to the shopping center, and walked home. His apparent confusion in initial interviews was an act and when confronted, he quickly confessed. His children knew and, as the sheriff explained, the wife had badgered, nagged, and harassed her husband for years. The sheriff was doubtful the man would spend time in jail after an evaluation to determine mental status.

"He will be charged, but with two sons as attorneys, and at his age, and when adult children swear to the years of verbal abuse between the two, it's doubtful he will stay in jail."

Sara smiled and went out to walk Hank; serenely and sublimely she ambled along the driveway. What a beautiful day, she thought. For the first time in her life, she felt well, a bursting into life sensation, and she knew she would live a long time. She was happy, and she knew Grissom was happy. Her hand absentmindedly rested on her abdomen—she knew her baby girl, named Elizabeth, would be happy.

Grissom watched from the porch, pleased, proud, satisfied that she had succeeded in her quest. She had shown no interest in returning to crime investigation after she left Las Vegas and had walked away today without a backward glance, calmly, free of anxiety or worry. Above and before him were great fanning ribbons of clouds across the sky, the apple green leaves of the trees, the drifts of white and pink and amber butterflies across their garden. Normally, he would have seen all of the natural beauty, but today, he saw that exquisite radiance within his wife as she stood for a moment in sunlight before turning to come back to him.

…_A year later…(next)_


	8. Chapter 8

**Murder in a Van Chapter 8**

…_One year later…_

The little girl gurgled at him from her place on the floor, watching him closely, absorbing every thing around her. Grissom smiled. There was no doubt about it; he was the father of the most intelligent, most beautiful child in the world.

Outside, spring had arrived in the valley, the gardens were in bloom, and warm sunlight poured into the room. This life suited them.

He heard his wife as soon as the child did, both turning their heads in the same direction as she appeared in the door, wearing a rose-colored shirt over dark pants. In her hand was a familiar book.

Raising her eyebrows as she walked toward them, she asked, "What are you telling Bizzy?" Sara had given her baby the beautiful name of Elizabeth, but somewhere between delivery and coming home, the name was forgotten as the baby's father unofficially christened her with his pre-birth nickname. Bizzy she became.

"We are discussing our daily schedule after her mom leaves us." He got to his feet and kissed her when she stopped before them.

She leaned to pick the baby up, giving her wonderfully brilliant smile, the one that never failed to warm places deep inside him. Immediately, little Bizzy mirrored her mother's smile. "I'll return by mid-afternoon. Class is over at noon but I have a couple of students to tutor."

Grissom knew he had married a woman of many talents and she had thrived as a wife, as a mother, as a teacher. Of course, under her supervision, everything in their world had flourished. He reached for the baby who babbled again, making happy sounds to have both parents sharing her.

He laughed. "Have you…"

She kissed him, gently, saying as she pulled away, "You make me the happiest person in the world." Her hand slipped around his neck.

They stood together for a full minute, one of his arms around her, the other holding his daughter. He smiled as he asked, "Does that mean its positive?"

Sara's head rested against his as she nodded.

He would have smiled again, but he preferred to kiss her instead.

**A/N:**_ This was all fluff--hope you liked this place we took our fav couple! Leave a comment or review! Thanks to all who do!_


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